


Mystrade Advent Calendar

by Pawfoot



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Because it's Christmas time, Fluff, M/M, Now with 20 percent more crack!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-12-02
Updated: 2011-12-24
Packaged: 2017-10-26 18:52:04
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 5,138
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/286714
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pawfoot/pseuds/Pawfoot
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fluffy and occasionally ridiculous Mystrade every day until Christmas.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. December 1st- Hot Chocolate

**Author's Note:**

> In what is probably one of the most ill-conceived plans I’ve had in a while, I’ve decided to do a Mystrade advent calendar. Yes, that is exactly what it sounds like. I might even write some fluff for Christmas too.

As a general rule of thumb, Lestrade tries to keep as dry as possible while working. It’s not a conscious rule; it’s more of a common sense thing most normal people do, especially during the winter months.

Unfortunately, most normal people don’t have to try and stop Sherlock Holmes from throwing himself into the Thames after his bloody scarf of all things. This of course resulted in both of them ending up in the river.

John and Sally found the whole thing quite funny. Lestrade did not.

Fortunately, the entire debacle occurred after the bad guys had been nabbed.

By the time Lestrade got home, he wasn’t so much wet as covered in a thin crust of ice. Already sniffling and sneezing, he fumbled with for his keys before the door was opened for him.

“You’ll catch your death like this,” Mycroft drawled from the doorway.

Lestrade growled as he pushed pasted his lover, but Mycroft more than made up for his snarky greeting by having a bath already drawn and pajamas and slippers waiting.

Clean, no longer ice covered, but still sniffling and feeling a bit chilled, Lestrade padded into the living room to find Mycroft waiting on the couch, and two mugs sitting on the coffee table. Lestrade picked one up as he sat down, cradling the warm mug gratefully in his hands.

“Hot chocolate,” he said, taking a sip and feeling the drink warm him.

“It is December,” Mycroft said, as though that explained everything.

Lestrade leaned against him. “It’s nice.”

Mycroft shifted his body so he could wrap his arms around Lestrade, letting the detective lean against his chest. Between the drink and the heat from Mycroft’s body, Lestrade soon found himself drifting off. Mycroft smiled, pressing his lips gently against Lestrade’s damp hair.

“I’ll always keep you warm.”


	2. December 2nd- First Snow

“It’s snowing!”

With the child-like glee to match his exclamation, Lestrade leaps out of his chair, pausing only to grab a scarf and coat before he is out the front door. Confused by his sudden departure, Mycroft follows slowly.

Mycroft Holmes does not like the cold. He’s not overly fond of heat either. Really, he’d rather not have to deal with weather at all, thank you.

“That can observed from inside,” Mycroft says, shivering in the doorway.

Lestrade stands just outside, staring up at the sky, grinning. Snow swirls around him, sticking to his hair, dusting his coat with white.

“It’s not the same.” He glances back at his partner. “Come on then.”

Mycroft sighs as he puts on his coat and steps out into the chill evening air. “No, inside it’s warm.”

But his complaints stop as he watches Lestrade. The cold has brought a pink tint to his cheeks, and his eyes shine with excitement. Snowflakes cling to his hair and eyelashes.

“See?” Lestrade says, offering Mycroft his hand. “It’s better out here.”

Yes, Mycroft thinks as he twines their fingers together, it is rather lovely.


	3. December 3rd- Candy Cane

Mycroft Holmes owns a lot of ties. Honestly, a ridiculous amount of ties. A tie for every occasion.

Lestrade has a favorite.

Nothing against the other ties. He likes them fine. He’s rather amused by the one with the umbrellas on it.

The tie is red with thin white lines wrapping around it. It reminds Lestrade of a color inverted candy cane.

So really, Mycroft need not ask Lestrade which tie he thinks goes best. Because Lestrade is only ever going to suggest one tie.

 _Well,_ Mycroft thinks, winding a tie that decidedly does not match around his neck, _‘tis the season._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've been collecting holiday prompts from friends for this, so if you'd like to suggest anything, feel free.


	4. December 4th- Popcorn Strings

Popcorn strings have never made much sense to Mycroft. What is the point of decorating with something you could be eating? And how the hell does one make a popcorn string?

As it turns out, popcorn strings are made by shoving a threaded needle through kernels of popcorn; also, as it turns out, this is fairly difficult. Mycroft sits at the kitchen table, surrounded by shattered popcorn, glaring at a piece of fishing line with six pieces of popcorn on it.

All because last week Lestrade mentioned how his mother used to decorate with popcorn strings at Christmas time.

And that’s how Lestrade finds him.

“What are you…” he trails off, taking in the popcorn scattered on the floor, Mycroft’s pricked fingertips. “Ah, Mycroft.”

He steps forward, taking Mycroft’s hands. Popcorn crunches underneath his feet, and Mycroft grimaces, clearly imagining the clean-up. Lestrade ignores this, raising Mycroft’s hands to his lips and gently kissing every injured finger.


	5. December 5th- Reindeer

Lestrade is absolutely certain he does not want to know why Sherlock needed a reindeer. Sometimes (most of the time) it is just better not to ask where the younger Holmes is concerned.

He does want to know how Sherlock lost a reindeer. It’s not as if 221B is a particularly large flat, and he’s pretty sure reindeer aren’t known for their ability to escape through windows. And surely someone in London has the sense to realize a reindeer is not something that belongs on the street!

But he cannot in good conscious leave John to handle this insanity alone, so he finds himself wandering the streets with John.

“And where the hell do you even buy a reindeer?” John wonders. (After two hours with no luck, it has become less about finding the deer and more about venting.)

A small voice in Lestrade’s head wants to point out that John knew exactly what he was signing on for with Sherlock, and another want to ask why this, of all the things Sherlock has put John through, is the one he decides to complain about. But John has enough going on today, so he just nods sympathetically.

After another half-hour in the cold, they both agree it’s a lost cause and hail a cab to get them back to Baker Street.

What they find waiting there is entirely unexpected, but it has been a day of ridiculous things.

Mycroft stands outside, gently stroking the neck of a rather contented reindeer.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Mycroft Holmes, reindeer whisperer.
> 
> This one ended up being a bit more crack-ish than usual...


	6. December 6th- Christmas Movie

When Lestrade told him they’d be watching a Christmas movie that evening, Mycroft had several ideas about what that meant.

It could mean some sort of overly sentimental clichéd plot, possibly including angels or Santa Claus. It could mean several _Doctor Who_ specials (Lestrade has a very loose definition of movie).

What it actually means is neither of those things.

“This,” Mycroft states, as _Die Hard begins_ , “is not a Christmas movie.”

Lestrade shushes him. “It is absolutely a Christmas movie.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not super pleased with this one, but I have a chemistry exam that I am thoroughly unprepared for. Will try for something better tomorrow.


	7. December 7th- Gingerbread House

If asked, Sherlock and Mycroft will always deny the existence of any sibling rivalry on their part. Obviously, it’s always been their brother who’s instigating.

John and Lestrade have more than enough anecdotal evidence suggesting otherwise. For example, the time John suggested their relationship might be improved if they spent time with each other doing normal family things.

When John and Lestrade left for the pub, it looked as if, just maybe, this plan might actually work. By the time they returned, it had obviously failed.

“Where did you get all of this gingerbread?” Lestrade asked, staring at the two intricate constructions.

John knew better than to ask questions like that; he has a theory that things just appear in Baker Street when Sherlock needs them. He settles for hoping the working clockwork Mycroft’s integrated into the Houses of Parliament wasn’t taken from anything of his and wondering how a complete skeleton of gingerbread is managing to support Sherlock’s skull.

“Which is better?” Sherlock demanded.

Mycroft sighed. “They’re both biased.”

“Sherlock’s is more ambitious,” Lestrade began, just as John said, “Mycroft’s is prettier.”

Sherlock snorted. “Pretty? Honestly, John.”

“They’re trying to prove a point,” Mycroft said. “Badly.”

“Same time next week?” Lestrade asked John, pointedly ignoring the brothers.

John nods. “We might consider making them meet in a public place.”


	8. December 8th- Ice Skating

The moment his skates hit ice, Lestrade’s legs wobble. His attempt to regain balance only sends him tumbling forward, knees thudding onto ice, hands stinging with cold as he uses them to break his fall.

He takes the hand Mycroft offers a little reluctantly. Holmes, of course, seems perfectly comfortable, as if there is no difference between balancing on thin strips of metal and standing normally on solid ground.

“A bit rusty?” Mycroft asks, smiling.

Lestrade avoids his eyes as he answers. “I’ve never done this before.”

He tries not to take Mycroft’s surprise personally. Mycroft, Lestrade suspects, grew up in the type of place where there was actually a pond on the grounds (also, the type of place where there are grounds). Presumably, he’s been ice skating on it since he could walk or something equally ridiculous.

“Well then,” Mycroft says as he hooks his arm through Lestrade’s, and suddenly, the detective feels much steadier. “It’s never too late to learn.”


	9. December 9th- He Sees You When You're Sleeping...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one isn't particularly Chirstmas-y or fluff, and it probably requires a follow-up. I promise your regularly scheduled saccharine holiday pieces will return tomorrow.

It all started when he stopped by Baker Street for Sherlock’s help on a case and found him smashing tiny cameras with a hammer.

“Experiment?” Lestrade asked.

“Making a point,” Sherlock said. “If I destroy enough of them, he’ll eventually give up. You might consider reminding him just because he can doesn’t mean he should.”

Lestrade had ignored it at the time, but with the case solved and the criminal in cuffs, it started to gnaw at the back of his mind.

“Do you have me under surveillance?” he blurted out as soon as he saw Mycroft.

Lestrade expected him to look surprised or at least to try and deny it, but Mycroft simply met his eyes and answered, “Yes, of course.”


	10. December 10th- Mistletoe

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One of my usual beta's had a birthday this week, and she'd really like it if I wrote some more John/Sherlock. So today is for her.

Sherlock Holmes always has a plan. Not necessarily always a _good_ plan, but there is always a plan. Which is why he stands, waiting, just behind the front door of 221B, John’s keys heavy in his jacket pocket. Because Sherlock has a plan.

He expects the impatient knocking and throws the door open. Grabbing the smaller man, he presses their mouths together without a second thought. It is only when he’s being shoved away that Sherlock realizes he’s made a miscalculation.

“What the hell was that?” Lestrade demands, face red and eyes wide.

Mycroft looks up from the tip of his umbrella, which he had been studying as though it held all the secrets to world peace. “I believe that was an ancient Christmas tradition, Gregory. Must you always make such a scene around the holidays, Sherlock?”

Lestrade glances up, and sure enough, tacked to the inside of the doorframe is a sprig of mistletoe.

“But why…” He trails off as it becomes obvious. “You weren’t expecting us.”

“You stole his keys,” Mycroft states.

“Are you here for any particular reason or just to irritate me?” Sherlock snaps.

“You’ve been ignoring Mummy’s calls,” Mycroft chides. “She expects you for Christmas. Shall I tell her to expect Doctor Watson as well?”

Sherlock glares.

“I’ll take that as a yes. Well then, we’ll get out of your way.”

“Hold on a moment,” Lestrade says.

He pulls Mycroft into the doorway, and brings their mouths together softly, just for a moment, because honestly, he doesn’t trust Sherlock to handle this maturely. The look of disgust on the younger Holmes face when they part is enough confirmation.

“I’d really much prefer it if the two of you could restrain yourselves when I’m around,” he sniffs.

“And I’d really much prefer it if you didn’t kiss me out of nowhere, so it looks like we’ve both been disappointed today,” Lestrade says.

As Mycroft and Lestrade leave, they notice a cab containing one John Watson pull up. They don’t turn back, but they can hear him pounding on the door.

“I know you stole my keys, Sherlock! This is some bloody experiment, isn’t—“


	11. December 11th- Wrapping Paper

If it’s not rectangular, put it in a bag. This is Gregory Lestrade’s only advice about wrapping gifts. And he’s not even particularly good at wrapping rectangular things. The paper rips, the cuts are uneven, bits of the other side of the paper can be seen.

In fact, just put it in a bag. Always use a bag.

Mycroft Holmes wraps gifts like they’re works of art. Unnecessary, difficult to open works of art. The paper always lies flat along the gift; the tape is unnoticeable. Ribbons and bows and sprigs of holly for decorative flair.

Lestrade would say he has someone do it for him, except he’s come home to find Mycroft at the table, centering a box on a length of wrapping paper, measure to make sure everything’s the proper length.


	12. December 12th- Soup

It starts with a sniffle. And then a sneeze. And the next thing Mycroft knows Lestrade is strong arming him back to bed.

“I’m fine,” he protests as Lestrade piles blankets on top of him.

“You’re sneezing, you’re clearly congested, and you steeped your tea for fifteen minutes,” Lestrade says. “You’re not fine, and you are not going to work until you are.”  
When Mycroft tries to argue, Lestrade adds, “The world can function without you for a few days.”

The look on Mycroft’s face says, quite plainly, _I could tell you why I know for a fact it can’t, but then I would have to kill you._

“I’ll be back at lunch to check up on you.” The _if you try and leave I will find out_ is heavily implied.

Mycroft makes a legitimate attempt not to fall back asleep for about ten minutes before he curls up in the blankets and drifts off.

He is woken later by a hand on his shoulder.

“How are you feeling? I got soup if you’re hungry? Or I could make tea? Do you need more blankets?” Lestrade hovers over him, his concern evident.

“Soup would be lovely,” Mycroft rasps, and oh dear, when did that happen? Maybe he really is ill.

When Lestrade returns, he is carrying a tray which he carefully arranges on Mycroft’s lap before easing himself onto the bed to stroke Mycroft’s mussed hair out of his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> If you’re interested, it is my personal crossover headcanon that the last time Mycroft took time away from work, the events of Children of Earth happened.
> 
> Also, I am running out of prompts, so feel free to submit some more!


	13. December 13- Christmas Tree CATastrophe

The orange tabby is the last left in the box. She huddles in the corner, meowing plaintively as it starts to snow. Fur fluffs up against the cold, and the kitten starts to shiver.

It is a well-documented fact that Gregory Lestrade has a soft spot for strays. Injured birds, underfed dogs, a certain malnourished junkie with a penchant for wandering onto crime scenes; something about them makes Lestrade want to get them back on their feet and into a good home.

So when he sees the orange kitten crouched in a damp cardboard box that is slowly filling with snow, there is nothing that could convince him to leave it. Unbuttoning his coat, he slides one arm out of its sleeve so he can hold the tiny cat inside his coat and against his chest.

When he arrives at home, he sets the kitten up in a box filled with towels, and gives her a small bit of ham and a dish of water. Lestrade strokes her head gently before dashing out to get some proper cat supplies.

Lestrade is still out when Mycroft gets home. He notices the towel filled box straight away, but it is empty. Being well-aware of Lestrade’s tendency to bring home strays, Mycroft is trying to locate the missing animal when he hears a ‘mrrow’ from behind him.

The kitten is perched on top of the Christmas tree, just below the star. She cocks her head to the side as Mycroft slowly approaches the tree.

“This is not a place for a cat,” he scolds, reaching up to get her out of the tree.

The kitten meows in protest, slipping down a few branches to avoid Mycroft’s hands. When he tries to reach into the tree for her, it lilts sideways with a jangling of ornaments. Mycroft backs away quickly.

Deciding Mycroft isn’t much of threat when he’s away from the tree, the kitten inches forward until her head is sticking out of the branches. Mycroft darts forward to grab her, but as he gets a hold on the cat, he realizes he hasn’t actually stopped and tumbles into the tree.

Lestrade returns to find the tree on the floor, surrounded by shattered ornaments, and Mycroft sprawled on the sofa with the kitten asleep on his chest.

“I’ve named her Holly,” Mycroft says, scratching her ears and pointedly not looking at the tree.


	14. December 14th- Carols

When Mycroft first sits down at the piano, he knows immediately it’s been too long since he’s played. His fingers move sluggishly, the chords feel unnatural to his hands, and he cringes every time he hits a wrong note.

But as he plays, the problems begin to fade. The pieces become familiar, the movements smoother, wrong notes few and far between. He relaxes his posture as the final chords ring, and feels a pair of arms slide around his waist.

“I didn’t know you played,” Lestrade says, chin resting on Mycroft’s shoulder.

“Of course I play.” Lestrade can’t see his face, but he can imagine the scandalized look. “A piano should never be kept for show.”

Lestrade stifles his laugh by pressing his lips to Mycroft’s neck, and Mycroft tilts his head back, letting Lestrade’s lips brush against his pule point, flutter along his jawline. His nose brushes along the ridge of Mycroft’s ear when he draws back to whisper.

“Play for me?”


	15. Decemeber 15th- Paper Snowflake

“Relax,” Lestrade says as Mycroft straightens his tie again. “They’re going to love you.”

Before Mycroft can protest, Lestrade knocks, and a short woman who must be his sister opens the door, beaming. She embraces Lestrade, before turning to Mycroft.

“It’s so good to finally meet you!” she trills, and before Mycroft can return the sentiment, she’s hugging him too.

“Christ Margaret, let him at least come in,” Lestrade says, laughing.

“If you hadn’t been so long about introducing him, I wouldn’t be this excitable,” she replies, leading them inside and taking their coats. “Dave and Julie are in the kitchen.”

When they enter the kitchen, a small blur hurls itself at Lestrade’s legs, shrieking, “Uncle Greg!”

Julie glares up at Mycroft. “You’re Uncle Greg’s boyfriend,” she says accusingly.

Mycroft kneels and holds out his hand. “Hello.”

Eyeing Mycroft’s hand suspiciously, Julie pulls a folded piece of paper out of her pocket and offers it instead. Mycroft takes it and carefully unfolds it to reveal a still mostly rectangular paper snowflake.

“This is lovely. Did you make this?”

Julie nods and holds out her hand. “Would you like to make some with me?”

“I’d be delighted.”


	16. December 16th- Snowed In

“Relax,” Lestrade murmurs, rubbing Mycroft’s shoulders firmly.

Mycroft is staring out the window at the ever increasing snowfall, looking more and more distressed.

“The storm’s supposed to blow over by tomorrow,” Lestrade whispers, lips brushing Mycroft’s ear. “We’ll be able to leave by Sunday, at the latest.”

When Mycroft continues to ignore him, Lestrade spins him around, kissing him forcefully. They are both panting when they part.

“Now,” Lestrade says. “We are not going anywhere tonight, so stop worrying and take me to bed.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today's update is so short, it's been busy.


	17. December 17th- Christmas Tree

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which there is sort of continuity.

After the debacle with the cat, Mycroft and Lestrade agreed that perhaps a large tree wasn’t a good option for them. Still, it is Christmas time, and Christmas time requires a tree.

The first small tree appears in the center of the kitchen table the day after Holly and Mycroft destroyed the original. It’s wrapped in silver tinsel with blue ornaments, making it too coordinated to be put there by anyone but Mycroft.

In responses, Lestrade places one on the coffee table, strung with multicolored lights and hung with whatever he could find. Mycroft’s attempt at a popcorn chain, some of the paper snowflakes Julie had insisted they take, and a reindeer ornament that he did actually purchase.

The next morning, Lestrade enters his office to find a tree covered entirely in umbrellas on his desk.

When Mycroft visits Baker Street that afternoon, a tree covered entirely in mistletoe sits on the coffee table.

“Your idea of a joke?” Sherlock asks.

“I didn’t put it there,” Mycroft answers.

He’s not entirely certain how Lestrade managed this, but John can’t keep himself from giggling, so he has his suspicions.


	18. December 18th- Foggy Windows

Train rides are always dull. They are especially dull if your traveling companion insists on reading the paper instead of doing anything entertaining, and you’ve forgotten the novel you were reading, like Gregory Lestrade has.

He runs a finger over the window, staring at the line it makes and is struck with by an idea. Childish, yes, but it’s not like he has anything else to do.

Mycroft ignores the squeaks for a while, before he finally lowers his paper.

“What on earth are you doing?”

Lestrade pauses in the middle of writing ‘Police Box’ on a rather badly sketched TARDIS. He waves a hand at his window doodle.

“I started with a Christmas tree, and then I realized I couldn’t draw people, so I drew some Daleks attacking it, and then I had to draw the Doctor swooping in to save Christmas.”

“Well then,” Mycroft murmurs, and Lestrade is fairly certain he’s wondering why in the world he’s taking this man home for Christmas.

Holmeses do not doodle on fogged up windows. So Lestrade is not expecting Mycroft to lean across the compartment and write ‘Box’ on top of the TARDIS.


	19. December 19th- Snowball Fight

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In which my pet minor pairings make an appearance. Also, I can't believe this is the first time Anthea's shown up; I love Anthea.

From where they are crouched behind Mycroft’s umbrella, Lestrade and Mycroft are relatively safe from the current bombardment of snowballs, but they both know it won’t last.

The inexplicably successful team of Sherlock, John, Molly, and Dimmock had driven them from their base, and at some point during their completely tactical retreat they’d lost Anthea and Sally.

“They’ve got to run out at some point,” Lestrade says, but Mycroft shakes his head.

“Molly and Dimmock have no aim; they’re just making snowballs.”

The constant stream of projectiles peters out as he says this. Lestrade raises his eyebrows.

“Or they could have another plan,” Mycroft says.

“Do we know what happened to Sally and Anthea?”

“Behind you.”

Lestrade cranes around. Sally and Anthea have concealed themselves behind a tree, but if the way Sally is clutching at Anthea’s shoulders is any indication, they’ve completely forgotten about the snowball fight.

“So it’s just us then?” Lestrade asks.

Before Mycroft can reply, a snowball smacks into the back of his head. They both jump to their feet. Spluttering, Mycroft turns around, while Lestrade tries to locate Sherlock from the sound of his laugh. He throws a snowball at the first flash of black coat and is rewarded when it connects with Sherlock’s shoulder.

Mycroft swings his umbrella to block John’s next attack, while Lestrade fails to dodge and takes Sherlock’s next volley in the chest.

Meanwhile, safely out of the fight, Anthea, Sally, Molly, and Dimmock watch. Molly shivers dramatically, and Dimmock wraps an arm around her.

“Coffee?” Anthea suggests.

The group agrees quickly, leaving the others to their shenanigans.


	20. December 20th- Fireside

Lestrade was absolutely right about the type of place Mycroft grew up in. It has grounds. There is, as he suspected, a pond. The house itself is for too large for a widow, and if it wasn’t clearly ancestral, Lestrade would wonder why she doesn’t leave.

The entire place makes him feel uncomfortable and out of place.

However, Lestrade quite likes the fireplace in Mycroft’s bedroom. He also rather enjoys the large armchairs in front of it.

He’s finally got Mycroft pinned between his legs in one of them. They kiss languidly, soft presses of lips with broad sweeps of tongues. Mycroft’s hands grasp Lestrade’s hair, tugging. Lestrade paws at Mycroft’s waistcoat, struggling blindly with the buttons.

When they part for air, his hands move to Mycroft’s ties, hoping to get better access to his neck.

“Wait.” Mycroft pushes at his chest with one hand, and bats at the hands at his tie with the other. “Gregory, stop.”

Lestrade sits back. “What?”

“We can’t,” Mycroft says.

“No one’s going to hear us! This place is huge, and I’m betting these walls aren’t thin.”

Mycroft pushes at his chest more firmly. “It’s not…”

Lestrade slides off. “It’s not what? Proper? Polite?”

“Gregory…” Mycroft protests, but Lestrade holds up a hand to stop him.

Lestrade begins to unbutton his shirt. Mycroft opens his mouth to protest, but Lestrade shakes his head. He strips efficiently; it’s not a tease. When he’s naked, he approaches the chair again, plants his hands on each armrest, and leans over Mycroft.

“How sure are you?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry today's update was so late; it just completely slipped my mind.


	21. December 21st- Secret Santa

Sherlock was about to drag John from the Yard when Lestrade shoved the open paper bag in front of him.

“Take a name, both of you.”

“What is this?” Sherlock demanded as John pulled out two slips of paper, handing one to his flatmate.

“Secret Santa. It was decided that you two are around enough to be considered part of the team.”

Opening his paper, Sherlock scoffed and tossed it away. “Absolutely not.”

Lestrade sighed. “Come on, Sherlock. Don’t make this more difficult than it has to be.”

“What are you going to do, tell on me to my brother?” And he left with an unnecessarily dramatic swirl of his coat.

“I’ll handle it,” John said with a rueful smile.

One week later, the gifts were exchanged. Sally cooed over a gorgeous pair of feather earrings. Lestrade cradled a pound of what was apparently really good coffee like it was an infant. (Sherlock had been about to point out that Mycroft would buy him good coffee all the time if he’d just ask, but John had quickly stepped on his foot to silence him.) John himself was wondering who thought he needed apron.

Sherlock had given his box a quick shake before staring intently at Anderson, who had just pulled several plastic dinosaurs out of a bag. He grinned, picking up a stegosaurus and a t-rex.

“Curse your sudden but inevitable betrayal!” he crowed, smashing the t-rex into the stegosaurus.

Sherlock’s eyes widen, and he grabbed John’s wrist, pulling him with him as he left.

“Merry Christmas!” John called as he was forcibly removed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Why yes, Anderson is quoting Firefly.
> 
> Just for the record. John had Sally. Anderson had John, and Sally had Lestrade. Lestrade made sure he got Sherlock.
> 
> Your regularly scheduled Mystrade will return tomorrow.


	22. December 22nd- Christmas Lights

The flat has a balcony, a covered balcony. Lestrade stands on it with two strands of lights, considering the two columns.

“Would you like me to get a ladder?” Mycroft asks from the doorway.

“Don’t bother,” Lestrade says, grabbing one strand of lights and hauling himself onto the ledge.

One arm wraps around the column for support as Lestrade stands. Mycroft rushes outside.

“Don’t be ridiculous; get down.”

Lestrade ignores him and ties one end of the lights securely to the top of the column. He begins to wrap the lights around.

“You worry too much,” he says.

Mycroft folds his arms. “I worry exactly the right amount. It’s hardly my fault many of the people I care about seem to have no sense of self preservation.”

Lestrade is about to reply when a sudden gust of wind catches him off guard. He leans backward and Mycroft’s heart stops. For a moment, Lestrade appears suspended in the night air, one arm thrown out in an attempt to steady himself. But then he vanishes, and Mycroft runs to the ledge, shouting his name.

“I’m okay!” Lestrade calls.

Mycroft leans over. Lestrade is hanging from the light strand, feet scrabbling for purchase on the building. Glancing up, Mycroft notes the lights, still tied around the column.

“Well, I say okay… please help?”

“Right! Yes.” Mycroft cannot reach him, so he tries to pull him up using the lights. “I can’t; stay here while I get help.”

“Where am I going to go?” Lestrade asks as he hears Mycroft clattering away.

A few minutes later, he hears several people return.

“I’m sorry about this,” he hears Anthea says.

“Oh no,” a familiar voices says, and he looks up to see Sally Donovan grinning down at him. “This is worth it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don’t try this at home kids. Meant for this chapter to have more Sally and Anthea, but I spent most of today trying to fix a whole host of computer issues…
> 
> Also, I realized I forgot to include what Lestrade got Sherlock, so if you were wondering, it was a scarf to replace the one Sherlock lost in the Thames all the way back on December 1st.


	23. December 23th- Sweater

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title: Your sweater is so ugly I need to sex you out of it

It is, hands down, no competition, the single most hideous item of clothing Mycroft has ever seen. As if a Christmas tree on a red and green stripped background wasn’t enough, the sweater was also covered in snowflakes. Every green stripe contained candy canes.

Abhorrent.

“What?” Lestrade asked, presumably in response to Mycroft’s eye twitch (looking at it is physically painful). As if he has no idea.

There is not time to explain. Words take time; words mean an explanation must be given. Sometimes, actions are needed first.

Mycroft crosses the room, grabs the hem of Lestrade’s sweater, and pulls it off him. Before Lestrade can express his confusion, he kisses him.

“You could have just said,” Lestrade says when they part, grinning.

“Wasn’t time,” Mycroft replies as they move toward the bedroom.

He must remember to have the sweater destroyed.


	24. December 24th- You Can Imagine the Christmas Dinners

If Gregory Lestrade has ever been at a more awkward gathering, he can’t remember it. From the moment he set foot in the Holmes household, it had been painfully apparent just how little Mummy Holmes approved of her eldest son’s choice of companion.

It’s also fairly clear why John gets slightly more approval. One: He is a doctor, and on some level, every mother wants a doctor in the family. Two: Everyone knows Sherlock is not getting another shot at this.

The dinner table is unnecessarily long for five people. Mummy Holmes sits at the head of the table, so she can gaze imperiously at everyone with ease. On either side, but still needlessly spaced away from her, are her sons and several feet away from them, John and Lestrade.

No one speaks; Sherlock keeps checking his watch.

John and Lestrade are engaged in a very intense, very silent argument about who is going to break the silence when they are interrupted by a flurry of wings.

“Oh no, a goose,” Sherlock says monotonously. This must have been what he was waiting for, although what it’s supposed to accomplish, Lestrade has no idea.

“Where do you get all these animals?” Lestrade asks Sherlock, remembering the reindeer incident.

“Sit down,” Mummy Holmes snaps at John, who is half way out of his seat, presumably going to try and remove the goose. She turns to Sherlock. “Why must you always make such a scene?”

“Because it’s a lot more interesting than sitting in silence.”

“If you wouldn’t bicker with your brother every time you opened your mouth, perhaps we could have some conversation at the table.”

While Sherlock and his mother argue, Mycroft continues to eat. Lestrade suspects this is a regular occurrence. The goose flaps its way onto the table, and he and John watch it waddle along, pausing here and there to peck at a dish. When it reaches Mycroft, it honks insistently, and he looks up from his plate. Mycroft pushes his chair back from the table a little, and the goose hops into his lap.

Lestrade raises his eyebrows at John, as if to say, “This is completely, utterly mad.”

John just shrugs, as if to reply, “Well, what did you expect?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, I made it all twenty-four days. I can honestly say I did not expect that.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who has commented or left kudos; I'm glad to know people have been enjoying this.
> 
> Merry Christmas!


End file.
